Page 110 of Auctioned Innocence
Not the terrified girl who was displayed on an auction platform, not the desperate captive fighting for survival—but Sofia Renaldi. The woman who can take apart a security system with her eyes closed, who can put three bullets through a target at four hundred yards, who can stand beside me as an equal partner instead of someone who needs constant protection.
Every morning, we clear the furniture from the main room and work through combat scenarios. Hand-to-hand, weapons, tactical movement—all the skills Marco drilled into her over the years, now sharpened by real experience and my guidance. But I’m not teaching her anymore. I’m trainingwithher.
She’s always been deadly. The woman who saved us both from that warehouse, who killed five men without hesitation. When she disarms me during sparring—and she does, frequently—there’s no surprise in her eyes. Just the quiet confidence of someone who’s remembered that she accepted exactly what she’s capable of.
It’s the nights that undo me completely.
I wake with her wrapped around me like she’s afraid I’ll disappear, and I hold her like she’s something precious I never expected to have. We talk in whispers about everything and nothing—childhood memories, dreams we’ve never spoken aloud, the future we’re trying to build in a world that keeps trying to tear us apart.
When the nightmares come, I’m there. When the panic attacks hit—usually triggered by unexpected sounds or the feeling of being trapped—I talk her through them with infinite patience. Not because she’s weak, but because healing takes time. Because even the strongest people carry scars.
And Christ, she’s strong. Stronger than I ever gave her credit for.
“You’re staring,” Sofia observes from where she’s cleaning weapons at the dining table. The morning light streaming through the bulletproof windows catches the gold in her dark hair, making her look like some avenging angel sent to destroy my self-control.
“Can you blame me?” I settle into the chair across from her with my coffee, still marveling at the domestic normalcy of it. Three days ago we were killing people in a warehouse. Now we’re sharing morning coffee like any couple.
Except we’renotany couple. We’re two people with blood on our hands, trying to find the people who want us dead.
“The quiet won’t last,” I say, though there’s no urgency in my voice. We both know this peace is temporary. Mario’s secure communications have been sporadic—careful, coded messages that confirm Marco is healing but reveal little else about the larger situation.
Sofia reaches across the table, threading our fingers together. Three days, and I still feel that electric shock when she touches me. I can’t quite believe this is real.
“No regrets?” she asks again softly, and there’s something vulnerable in her voice that makes my chest tight.
I bring her hand to my lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “About falling for the most dangerous woman I know? Having the best sex of my life with someone who could probably kill me six different ways?” My smile is genuine, probably the first real one I’ve worn in years. “None whatsoever.”
"Good answer." She leans across to kiss me, tasting like coffee and something uniquely her. “Because I was going to have to hurt you if you said yes.”
“Violent tendencies,” I murmur against her lips. “I like that in a woman.”
“There’s something wrong with you,” she giggles and I can’t help but agree with her.
Her laugh is low and breathless, the kind that curls in my chest and coils tight in my stomach. I brush her hair back from her face, fingers lingering at the curve of her jaw.
“I’m serious,” I whisper. “There’s definitely something wrong with me.”
She grins like she knows exactly what I mean—and exactly what to do about it. Her hands find the collar of my shirt, curling into the fabric, pulling me closer until there’s nothing but desire and the shared air between us.
Her lips meet mine again, slower this time, less teasing. It’s not a kiss meant to distract or test—it’s claiming, deliberate. I respond in kind, one hand sliding behind her neck while the other braces against her hip. She tilts her head, deepening the kiss, and suddenly everything else disappears but the press of her mouth, the scrape of her teeth, the intoxicating warmth of her body against mine.
In a flash she’s straddling me in one fluid motion, and my breath stutters. Her fingers trail up the back of my neck,threading into my hair, and when she tugs, just a little, I groan against her lips.
“You like danger,” she murmurs, kissing the corner of my mouth, my jaw, then just below my ear. “Good. I can work with that.”
“God help me,” I breathe, tilting my head to give her more room. Her mouth on my neck sends sparks across every nerve ending. “I don’t think I want to be saved.”
Her throaty laugh against my skin sets me on fire. I wrap my hand around her hair and pull it back, forcing her lips away from my throat and exposing her neck to me. Leaning forward, I kiss her skin, sliding my hands to her stomach and slipping them under her shirt.
Sofia moans, and I bite her neck, eliciting a gasp from her perfect lips.
Curling my hands around the edge of her shirt, I yank it up and off her, exposing her toned, lean body to me. Her black satin bra barely covers the swells of her breasts, and I can’t help but cup them.
“Yes,” Sofia whispers and I suck in a breath. I run my hands in circles around the peaks of her breasts. Sofia moans and arches forward, crying out when I pinch her nipples through her bra.
God, the sounds of her moan make me so fucking hard.
I trail my hands down to the waist of her leggings and slide them down her legs. She helps me kick them off and they’re not even off her ankles before I dip my hand into her underwear. Fuck me, she’s already wet.
